


my life as v

by orphan_account



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Abusive Parents, Alternate Universe - Human, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Minor Character Death, Orphan Deceit, Orphan Logan, Orphan Patton, Orphan Roman, Orphan Virgil, Orphanage, Sympathetic Deceit Sanders, but don’t worry it gets somewhat better, deceit is kind of mean in the beginning but he gets redeemed pretty quickly, especially since they’re all 9-10 years old, the ships might not actually become romantic, virgil is just really sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 13:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19006417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: virgil is only nine years old when he’s sent to live in an orphanage after his quiet daily routine at home is broken and is rendered unfixable.[ this story is based off of/inspired by “my life as a zucchini” on netflix! ]





	my life as v

**Author's Note:**

> this story will contain sensitive subjects such as character death, abuse (mental and implied physical), and other things, so trigger warning for that! i will add specific warnings each chapter. while this story is based off of a movie, i will most likely be deviating from the original story many times, especially since i don’t want it to be a copy and i want to put my own twist on things!

A cold gust of wind blew in through the open balcony doors and it made the little boy inside shake intensely. 

The boy pushed himself up from the floor and walked towards the balcony tiredly. He tried his hardest to push the doors closed but it was no luck.

He had tried many times before, and none of the attempts were successful, he simply was not strong enough yet. 

His mother always said that some day, when he was finally strong enough to close the doors, amazing things would happen. She never elaborated on that though. 

The boy couldn’t bring himself to care, however, he was beginning to realize that being strong enough to close the doors might happen later rather than sooner. 

His mother never actually offered to close the doors herself, or even help.

Another gust of wind blew by, lifting up the boy’s brown hair in the breeze. He giggled for a moment before he noticed a piece of paper fly past him, then another, then another.

It only took him a moment to realize that these were his drawings. Quickly, he rushed inside, gathering up the rest of the paper. 

A few more papers blew past and the boy chased after them, only stopping when he realized if he went any further, he’d fall right off the balcony entirely. 

The boy didn’t cry or scream, he only frowned. He didn’t want to bother his mother. 

Calmly, like it was no big deal that he had just lost some of his favorite drawings, he once again walked back inside. 

He put the papers in a neat stack carefully for later and weighed them down with a rock he had found in the playground at school and brought home. 

It was a decently sized rock that was perfect for painting on, however, he still couldn’t find the right thing to paint on it, nor could he find a time when his mother wouldn’t catch him.

In complete silence, the boy slowly picked up the colored pencils he had left on the floor only moments before.

Out of what the boy could’ve guessed was pure unluckiness, a loud noise cut through the still, silent house.

The wind, more fierce this time, blew by once again, making a wind chime hanging on the balcony jingle loudly. 

The boy flinched as he heard his mother’s voice from downstairs, “V, stop that racket right now! Don’t make me come up there!” Her words were slurred.

“Yes, mama!” V answered, as he quickly made his way over to the wind chime outside. 

He jumped up once, and instead of grabbing the chimes, he only hit it, making more noise.

V began to sweat, panicking. More desperately this time, he jumped up again, successfully grasping the wind chime. 

The noise stopped and the silence took it’s place once more, except for the howl of the wind. If V listened carefully, he could hear what his mother was watching on TV, however, he didn’t normally like to do that. 

V turned to the doors and tried again to close them, not surprisingly, failing. Sometimes, V wondered if he really was just that weak, or if the doors were permanently stuck in place.

He clutched the wind chimes tightly in his hands, on one hand, to make sure it won’t make a sound, and on the other hand to cherish it a bit. 

The wind chimes were small and they looked pretty standard, except for a purple heart charm that also hung from the base alongside the chimes, made specifically for V from his father.

V placed the delicate object in one of the drawers of his dresser and resumed the task of picking up his room.

Keeping his room tidy helped V feel like he had some control, it wasn’t like it was difficult either, V didn’t exactly have a lot of stuff in the first place. 

The stress of the recent event made V hungry. His mother didn’t really cook meals anymore or even get up from her chair to fix V a snack, so quite often, V would find himself rummaging through the cupboards and fridge.

V didn’t mind. He could do whatever he wanted as long as he wasn’t being loud, he had just learned to live with it. 

Tiptoeing down the steep steps from the attic, where V’s room happened to be, V slinked past the living room and into the kitchen without making a sound easily. 

Opening the fridge, V wasn’t met with much, he hadn’t remembered when the last time his mother had gone to the store was. 

Sighing softly, V grabbed a string cheese stick from the fridge gently and unwrapped it, eating quickly, eager to get back upstairs as soon as possible. 

On the way back, V kept his eyes trained to the floor, the area between the kitchen and his bedroom was a danger zone filled with beer cans that could easily be tripped over. 

V began to collect the cans on the way back to his room. He didn’t really have a bunch of toys, so in an effort to find some entertainment, V sort of used the cans like building blocks.

He stopped at the entrance to the living room and peered in, seeing his mother sitting on the couch, fixated with the TV screen. 

She was very clearly drunk and didn’t intend on stopping anytime soon. V frowned, unimpressed, but he grabbed one last beer can before he hurried back upstairs.

Upstairs, V happily began building a tower, since he had finally collected enough. 

Along with drawing, V’s favorite past time was to design and build something with the beer cans, though it was risky, V didn’t mind all too much since he was as precise and delicate as he could possibly be.

The wind got stronger and dark clouds began to block out the sun, which was usually V’s only source of light in his room except for an old, dim nightlight. 

V tried to ignore it as best as possible, he knew a storm was coming but he blocked it out of his mind, unable to afford any mistakes while building the beer can tower.

In an effort to comfort himself, V began to hum very softly, so quietly, nobody but himself could have possibly heard it, which was V’s special skill. 

However, he was pulled out of his brief calm mindset when a crack of thunder boomed throughout the house, causing V to scream in terror, falling right into the tower of cans and knocking them all down the stairs.

V was distraught, he had no idea what to do, his thoughts were racing and his breathing speed up quickly. 

By then, his mother had already been alerted based off the fact that immediately V heard a voice screech from down below, “V, what did I tell you about staying quiet?”

V began to shake, his eyes watering. His breath was so ragged, he almost couldn’t hear the footsteps then his mother’s voice again, “Look at this mess, you brat! Do you understand who has to clean this up?”

There was a beat of silence and then his mother spoke once more, “Answer your mother this instant, V! Don’t make me come up there!” 

V let out a strangled noise, barely able to keep himself together as he peered over the open doorway to the downstairs area. “Y-yes, mama,” his voice was weak and choked up.

“You’re such an inconsiderate child, you should’ve answered me the first time!” She glared daggers at the kid, who couldn’t dare to look his own mother in the eyes.

“I-I’m so sorry, mama— I— I swear I’ll—“ V stuttered out a response but was cut off immediately. His eyes widened in fear as his mother’s anger only grew and she began to make the ascent to his room.

“You aren’t sorry one bit and I know it, brat! Oh, just you wait until I get up there!” Every step made V feel like throwing up, his gut was twisting in knots just looking at her.

“No...” he protested weakly, she was half way up the stairs.

“No,” his protest was louder this time and even more desperate and panicky, she was already almost up the stairs.

“No!” V yelled as he slammed the door shut, gasping for breath as he heard a scream, a few thuds, and then a final loud bang before silence filled the air once more.

V was starting to hyperventilate, his mind was working overtime and he couldn’t figure out how to calm down.

He hadn’t even realized when it started to drizzle, then rain, then downpour.

The rain was strong and loud, water leaking into V’s room through the open balcony doors. 

V buried his face in his knees and held himself, unsure of what to do. When he looked up again, he was sitting in a bland and boring office.

He hadn’t exactly known how he got there, he never called for help, the people just came into his home and took him away, though V was pretty sure a neighbor heard the noise and came to investigate. 

V scanned the room but there was really nothing interesting to look at except for the man who sat behind the desk in front of him.

The man had short brown hair and wore glasses. He wore a white collared shirt, a pink tie, and a brown sweater over top. 

He was typing something on his computer but when he noticed V staring, he smiled at him. V clutched the wind chimes in his hands anxiously.

“You can call me Mr. Picani,” the man said in a friendly tone.

V only stared at Mr. Picani, not saying a thing. He never really learned how to talk to adults.

Mr. Picani’s smile faltered slightly and he coughed awkwardly. 

“So,” he began, looking to his computer instead of the boy, “Virgil...” V tensed up.

He had not been called by his real name in God knows how long, probably years. 

Virgil blinked and whispered, “V...”

Mr. Picani looked away from his computer and back at Virgil, “What was that, kiddo?” 

“V...” Virgil stared at Mr. Picani blankly, “My mother called me... V”

Mr. Picani opened his mouth to ask a question but it seemed that Virgil was not finished, “My mother never called me by my real name. She said it took too much effort.”

There was a beat of silence then Mr. Picani nodded. “Would you... would you prefer to be called V?” 

Virgil was conflicted, he hadn’t been called Virgil in so long, was he ready for that? He looked down at his feet, “I— I... I don’t...” he was starting to get a bit too anxious.

Mr. Picani noticed and gave him a sad smile, “Why don’t we address you as V for now? Whenever you’re ready to change is up to you.”

Virgil nodded meekly, still gripping the chimes. 

“People don’t normally call me by my real name either,” Virgil looked up at the man, “so why don’t you call me Emile? Maybe that can help you become a bit more comfortable.”

Virgil didn’t smile but he did quietly appreciate the sentiment.

“Now, V... I need to ask you some questions, alright?” Virgil nodded in response and Emile continued, “How old are you, kid?”

Virgil hesitated then answered, “...nine.”

Emile kept asking questions and typing things into the computer after Virgil answered them.

“Okay, can you tell me a bit about your mother, V?”

Virgil took a deep breath, “Well... she really liked to drink beer. Sometimes we’d draw together, it was a lot of fun.” 

Emile nodded to show that he was listening as he typed away on the computer. “...And your father?”

Virgil gently placed the wind chimes on the desk and it peeled Emile’s attention away from the computer.

“My dad made this wind chime for me when I was five. He said that as long as it’s blowing in the wind, he’ll be there with me, but I don’t really think that makes sense, does it?” Virgil explained. 

“He said the purple heart stands for me, because I like purple.” 

Emile smiled fondly at the wind chimes then the smile fell away as he told Virgil what was happening to him.

“V, I’m going to take you to a place where there are other kids like you...” Virgil looked confused, “...kids with no mother or father.”

Virgil was almost offended. He grabbed the chimes from off the desk. 

“I want to go back home to my mama!” 

Emile seemed pained, “your mother is gone, Virgil.”

Virgil opened his mouth to say something in protest but then shut it almost instantly, but he didn’t cry. 

Emile stood up from his desk and walked around it, helping Virgil out of his chair. 

“Come along now kiddo, Mr. Sanders is expecting us.”


End file.
